


sadness, crowns, and other ordinary things

by RosieLeeYee



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Flower Language, Grief/Mourning, POV Original Female Character, POV Third Person, Princess - Freeform, Sadness, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieLeeYee/pseuds/RosieLeeYee
Summary: She was sad.(She hadn't always been, but things have a way of fading with time.)
Kudos: 1





	sadness, crowns, and other ordinary things

She was sad.  
(So was assumed).

She had no reason to be sad, no great plague cursed the land, no witches come to steal her away, or dying relatives. (Though the last two were not always cause for sadness). But to the great confusion of the kingdom and the place staff, the little princess was sad.  
It was not the normal sadness, the kind that could be chased away with butterflies and the departure of winter. It was not cured by the lyre or beautiful flowers (though many variants of the two were tried). It wasn't banished with scented herbs, exotic dishes, or any number of plays. The sadness persisted. It followed through sunshine and gentle rain and torrent storms. It followed her from spring to summer to autumn to winter again. Many hoped with the cycling of the year the sadness would once again fade with the arrival of spring. It didn't.

It was melancholic, this ache that could not be shaken from her. Seemed to bury into her bones and settle there. Seemed to say “this is my home now, leave me be.” They refused. For a while.  
As autumn faded again to winter, and again to spring, the years spun by, and those who once knew, forgot what it was to see the princess smile. They stopped trying.

Some days, when there was gentle rain, and the barest shine of sun, she would sit by a cracked window and read. Whatever she could get her hands on (that was not a lot); and _some_ days, when the wind was but a breeze, and the book was good (she liked the informative ones best, the ones that _taught_ things, explicitly or not. She was good at reading between the lines) a hint of a smile curled with the corner of her lip.

Those days were rare.

The cycle continued, as cycles are wont to do, memories fading with the snow. It was spring once again, and the little princess was soon to be queen.

The morning dawned with a blinding glare, the unabetting light soaked in a false mockery of cheer. It was fitting, she supposed.  
Lounging on the window seat overlooking the courtyard she was struck with the urge to sigh. It had been years, and she has forgotten to dread the inevitable event that had so suddenly crept up on her. Glancing at the servants scurrying about with garlands and tables below, the sigh pressed harder on her lungs. Flowers. Always the flowers. White carnations and yellow hibiscus. It felt like a spit in her face, delicacy and innocence. This is what was thought of her, wished to her.

She’d prefer clematis (the taste of chives and dill sat heavy on her tongue).

She sat, and waited. Observation quickly grew boring, the steady back and forth of the servants arranging pieces, delegating tasks and completing them, was a regular occurrence ( _not for long_ , whispered a little voice at the back of her head, _not after today_ \- she did not like this voice). She would not wait long, she knew. Smoothing out her skirt, grey and gold (she _loved),_ she stood as the door swung open. Another servant. Tucking her head to her chest, she cheek brushed the white chrysanthemum bound there (she _lost)_ as embarrassment coloured her cheeks. Of course.  
She had not seen her mother in weeks, and then at a passing glance, why should today be any different?

She was summoned. Not asked for, not called. Summoned.  
It resonated with the ache in her chest. This, she knew, would not change, had not changed _(lie,_ sang the voice, _it was not that way for_ \- no good things lie there, the past should stay where it lay). The sheen in her eye was not seen, no one was looking.

She was summoned so she came. She was not bade speak. (She had not spoken in _94 days, and then a whisper at **best,** and then you said so little, was **this** what she bade you do, bade you act? Look at yourself. **Look**_ ).

Her head lowered further.

The courtiers were kindly when faced. Of her father the same could not be said (he had tried once, she knew. He did not try again. She could not blame him). He was to be her husband. He was tall, she supposed. Once she heard it to be a desirable trait. And he had brown hair, they matched. (She remembered a contrast, her dark _dark hair, beautiful splayed against her modest brown. She had ringlets that curled so elegantly in the palm of her hand. They had rolled on the hills and played in the gardens and laughed. She had such pretty hair_ ).

They were to be married that day.  
(She expected this. It still hurt).

She knew not to (burned into her mind and back, she _knew_ not to), all the same, she wondered.  
Was he to be kind? Cruel? Disinterested? (She would pray, but who would _hear her?_ )

( _They passed books full of pressed flowers, primrose and acacia and violets, she pressed fresh bread into her hands, waved her away with a laugh)._

They were crowned with the close of spring.

(Princess to queen, sadness remained. _Flowers wilt_. But who was there to tell? There was only her, the ever distant queen).

The cycle continued.

(She was sad. She always had been, hadn't she? Wasn't it just her? No business of theirs.

She was sad. Had anyone enquired as to why?)


End file.
